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LEONARDO and Kate, who haven’t groped and panted on-screen since “Titanic,” will go at it again. The film is “Revolutionary Road.” It’s from the book. It’s about the American dream and a couple madly in love until the whole deal falls apart. Must be something about that scenario that floats around in their psyches because in this movie their love again goes down – just like the ship.

MORE love stories. Children, do we all know about Jude Law‘s newest pas sion? You know he was married to Sadie the actress and that went kerplunk. You know he was involved with Sienna the actress and that went kerplunk. He’s muttering he does not wish another showbiz type. This newie’s a writer. A society editor. She’s Kim Hersov. American. Age, 38. She has two sons. Together that would give them four sons. Maybe they’ll make their own Boys Town.

MORE love – or, rather, “like” – sto ries. Recall those endless sagas about Lindsay Lohan‘s nemesis, that other hotshot hotpants hot young teen star Hilary Duff? How they fought? Stuck shivs into one another? Well, now, stop the presses . . . hold your water . . . I am here to report . . . and I am so wildly excited with this news that I can barely hold my own water. Ready? They made up. They’re now friends. Pals. I mean, forget Clint Eastwood. This makes your day, right?

SO Jeremy Irons was onstage. In Lon don. For unknown reasons, a woman in the audience fainted. Whether her pantyhose were too tight, the theater was too warm or Jeremy was too hot, I don’t know. I only know she fainted. Jeremy the pro immediately stopped the show. And how about this for an “Only in London, kids, only in London”: When this lady theatergoer came to, she found herself in the arms of Jeremy Irons. It’s a wonder she didn’t pass out all over again.

MADONNA and her barristers, ex tremely unthrilled with that pro posed book by an ex employee, got it stopped as you may know. “Live To Tell: My Life as Madonna’s Nanny” is now into Crown Publishers’ trashcanny. Meanwhile, Miss Madonna has other art to fry. Painter Peter Howson recently put up a portrait of her – clothes-less – for sale for $30,000. It’s not flattering. It’s icky. Her husband’s in the background sort of leering. Although previously partial to Howson’s work, she does not find this funny. Repeat, not.

THAT was Brian Dennehy in white buck shoes and cream linen suit hold ing his New Dramatists luncheon goody bag in one hand, yakking on a cell with the other . . . That was the Duchess of York having coffee in a restaurant and studying a magazine ad for The Plumm and telling a pal: “This club’s hot. Let’s go back.” . . . That was Brooke Shields at hairdresser Rodolfo Valentin‘s. He styles her when she’s in N.Y. . . . That was Bloomy saying, “I used to say ‘some of my oldest longest-time friends,’ but we’re all now at the stage where it’s best to say, ‘friends of longstanding duration.’ ” . . . That was me sniveling because TV entertainment shows steal items I generate and give no credit. The music biz at least gives royalties . . . And that was soon-to-be parents Naomi Watts and Liev Schreiber sweetly saying: “We’re so excited.”

KEVIN Spacey is starring on Broadway in “Moon for the Misbegotten,” but we talked of his being artistic director of the Old Vic and is he starting to be an expat: “Look, my home is London the next eight years, but I’ve never felt I abandoned my country. I want a larger presence for the Old Vic in New York, and I’ll direct two classics in rep at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, but I couldn’t do in New York what I do there. The cost of running a 1,000-seat theater here is impossible. I’d get killed.

“My plan here at BAM as of January is to do 24-hour plays with students. We tried it in London three years ago. We take 24 people, six of each, actors, writers, directors, producers. We meet Saturday nights at 10:30. The sequestered writers are to each write a 10-minute play that didn’t exist the night before, and Sunday we perform all six plays.”

Yeah, great, but, so, meanwhile, any risk of him developing a British accent?

“My friends would kick my ass if I did.”

THAT D.C. madam threatening to spill VIP names of the johns who’ve en joyed her janes? She’s considering a new enterprise. Like doing the booklet, “How To Work Out of Your Own Home.”

WHILE overhauling his N.Y.C. apart ment Michael Salem found a Jan. 21, 1938, letter from FDR’s secretary/mistress Missy LeHand saying, “The president thanks you for sending the stamps. He’s glad to have them for his collection.” It was in response to Eleanor Roosevelt, who shopped at Michael’s father’s hosiery store, saw his large stamp collection, and suggested sending her stamp-collecting hubby some. And Michael Salem’s business? He sells cross-dressing outfits. The kind that feminized Rudy Giuliani for an Inner Circle event.